


Dreams Eternal

by lightweaver



Category: Aladdin (2019)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23896210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightweaver/pseuds/lightweaver
Summary: Surely, he should have had a name. Surely, even a mysterious disembodied spirit would not have been content to be called only "Genie". Surely, he would have a name that referred not to what he did but who he was.He did, once. This is the story of how a young man came to be the Genie of the Lamp.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

“Why don’t you have a name, Father?” Omar asked. This was certainly not the first time the boy had asked the question – it had fallen everyday from his lips from the time he was five, and the other children had told him it was strange that his father claimed no name. Each time, the man had laughed it off, stating that others could call him “Genie” if they truly wanted to address him. The irreverence of the statement had only aroused more curiosity in his children, both of whom came up with new stories everyday about their father’s mysterious origins.

At this rate, they could replace him as the finest storyteller in all the world.

“You know, Omar,” laughed the man, about to begin his usual spiel. “My mother –“

“Gave you a name, you lost it because you were careless, and could never bear to hurt her feelings by making yourself another,” cut in Lian, his daughter. “We _know_ that story, Father. You’ve said it every single day for ten years. Give us the truth, Father. Please.”

The man hesitated, glancing at his wife. Pleading for her to rescue him. Until this day, his children had badgered for more details, hinted that they knew there was more to the tale, and had tried asking about his youth in a bout of desperation. Always, he had managed to put them off with a song, a joke, or an admonishment, gently delivered, that it was about time they took themselves to bed.

Today, however, they confronted. No dancing around with words. A simple, direct, question.

And he was all too accustomed to granting wishes asked for, wasn’t he?

“Darling,” his wife said quietly, clasping his hands between hers. “They deserve to know.”

_They_ , not we. He had married a wonderful woman,. Twenty years of love, nineteen of marriage, and Dahlia had never once prodded him to speak more than he wished. She had accepted his eccentricities, never settling down in one place, leaving all she knew behind. She had never pushed him to even give her his name, finding her own ways to work around it. And now, she asked not for herself, but for her children’s sake.

Looking into her dark eyes, filled with love, warmth, and acceptance, he knew. Knew that it was time to release the shackles on the past.

“I will not tell you of my past,” he began. Raising his hand to forestall their protests, he went on. “You know everything of my life – how I was born from the lamp, freed by a man with a heart greater than any save your mother’s. I will, however, tell you of a different man. A man who died ten thousand years ago. His name was Khalid.”

\---------------------------

Tragedy plagued Khalid from the very beginning of his life. His mother died in childbirth, leaving a heartbroken man, a sickly baby, and a name that exemplified all the hopes she had for her child. Determined to make his wife’s dreams come true, the boy’s father did his best to raise him with all the love of mother and father both. He laboured through the day with the child on his back until the boy was old enough to join him.

Why did they labour so? Could they not be content with having enough for their daily bread? Certainly not, for Khalid’s father wanted to have enough to send Khalid to study with the Sultan’s Wisdoms, men and women holding all the knowledge in the world. Anyone could, so long as they could make the requisite donation to the temples before the Wisdoms carried out the testing to assess their suitability. In naming him as she did, Khalid’s mother had decreed that he would be eternal, and father and son were determined to obey.

Years of hard labour took its toll, and when Khalid was nineteen, his father passed. Still, Khalid worked everyday hauling water. Even though he was past the traditional age of fifteen, when most children went to study with the Wisdoms, no law prohibited him from doing so – only tradition.Tragedy struck again a year later, as being accosted by a gang of street toughs left Khalid a cripple, no longer able to work hauling water. The man was undaunted, for the small fortune he and his father had accumulated over years of saving was still safe. He had almost enough - only a tenth more was required. Though he did not have much of a way with words, he was certain that he could persuade the clerks in charge of the testing lists to add his name.

\---------------------------

He was not certain what he had expected. Anger, certainly. Laughter, if he was so unlucky. Nevertheless, both emotions would have indicated some level of engagement with his agenda.

What was he to do with apathy?

The clerk had simply shaken his head when he had asked to register his name on the lists. He had not even shown his coins, had not even begun the process of his negotiation.

"Come now, it is the right of all who live in this land to register their names for the testing lists!" shouted Khalid.

No response. The clerk simply shook his head again. The man did not even lift his head this time. Scritch-scratch, went his quill on the parchment, recording whatever he seemed to consider more important than responding to the peasant boy in front of him. A peasant boy with a chest full of coins, to be sure, but a peasant boy nonetheless.

"Are you deaf as well as mute, man? If you are incapable of speaking with me, then surely you can at least LOOK at me!" yelled Khalid, pounding on the table. The inks spilled over. Khalid paused. Perhaps this would finally elicit a reaction from the man?

He hoped in vain. The man huffed, pulled out a cloth and began cleaning up the inks as if they had been knocked over by the winds rather than by one whose anger blew hard enough to erode mountains. No response to his shout was forthcoming.

"DAMN YOU!" shouted Khalid. He reached over and grabbed the man's robe. He yanked on it. The man was pulled to his feet. He continued screaming, shaking the man. "YOU COULD AT LEAST ANSWER ME!"

This finally got a reaction out of the man. "Guards!" he called. Within a few minutes, Khalid was out on the street covered in dust, less one chest of coins.

Khalid began pummeling on the now-barred door of the temple. "If you don't want to take me, fine! At least give me my money back!" As had been the rule of the day, he was only greeted with silence. When a few more minutes of pounding continued to achieve the same result, he stopped, took a deep breath, spat on his hands, and began preparing to climb the walls of the temples. As he clutched the first carving he intended to use as a handhold and hoisted himself up, he heard a wheezing cackle from behind him.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," called a woman in a throaty voice. Startled, he lost his already tenuous grip on the temple walls, and fell into the dust for the second time that day. As he looked at her, he realised that she was younger than her voice had implied. She appeared only a few years older than him, and the eyes that peered out of her sun-darkened face glittered with amusement.

"Oh you wouldn't, would you?" he grumbled. Bad enough this woman had witnessed him, a cripple, attempting to tackle the walls of the temple. Bad enough that she had probably seen him tossed onto the street to begin with. And now, she was merry at his expense. 

She only smiled serenely to answer his glare. "Yes, I wouldn't. Now they only have you thrown out for attempting to attack a clerk - I would love to know how you did that, by the way. You with only one good leg, managing to lift that man off his feet. And you know just by looking at him that he's never missed a meal in his life. As I was saying, right now, you've only got a small charge, and a small punishment to suit it. But if you were caught attempting to breach the temple dedicated to the Wisdom Spirit herself? You'd be arrested on charges of blasphemy and profanity, perhaps accused of nefarious acts against the land itself. You'd be thrown in prison to starve. Lose that impressive strength of yourself with how little they'd feed you. And odds are that the guards would see to it that you lost the use of that other leg too." 

He sighed, running his hands through his hair. She was right, damn the woman. "They took my money. They took everything I had," he whispered. Even if they had denied him, he had thoughts of using that money to make his way in the world somehow. Now, he was relegated to the streets. He could not work. All he could do was beg. Beg, and probably die after being beaten to death by some other group of toughs anyway. 

She snorted. "You're not from around here, are you?" At his glare, she only chuckled. "My, aren't you a fiery one! But I am right, aren't I? Those of us who have the dubious honour of living near the Wisdoms know better than to trust any of them. But there," she said, gesturing to the horizons, "it's getting late. I'd better be off. If you would like, you can come back with me. Have a hot meal, sleep in a comfortable bed for the night. Then tomorrow, you can be back to where you're from." 

He hesitated. It seemed to good to be true. A young woman, inviting a random street boy to her home without a thought about how her parents would surely react? It seemed like another chance for fate to laugh its cruel, merciless, laugh at him. 

"Yes," he finally acceded. It was not as if he had ten other offers of lodging for the night to choose from. 

With difficulty, he hauled himself onto his one good foot and grasped the cane that he used to aid him in his walking. How thoughtful of the guards to throw that out together with me, he thought sourly. Blessing the strength he had developed in his arms from his years of hauling water, he dragged himself behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

The woman’s house was only three minutes away from the temple, a fact that Khalid’s aching body was grateful for. It would probably not be considered a large house by the standards of the rich, but to Khalid, who had grown up in little more than a straw hut, the brick structure screamed luxury. 

Khalid narrowed his eyes as he watched the woman pull out a key from her robe, and begin fiddling with the lock on the door. So. This was a woman who had enough wealth that a lock was necessary on her door. Even Khalid, who had his savings to guard, had simply buried it. Who was she, that she was so wealthy at this young age?

Further, there was also the fact that this woman held the keys. He frowned. Not only did that mean nobody else was home, but it also indicated that she was someone of power within the household. She would not be admonished for bringing a stranger home, then. 

He hesitated at the strangeness of it all. Who was this woman, who was so confident that she could just invite a stranger to her home at the drop of a hat? Crippled though he was, he had shown his strength. Did she not fear being robbed? 

And more importantly, was he a fool for following her? Should he just have run away? Should he leave now? 

“Are you just going to stand there and stare at my walls all day, or are you going to come inside?” she called to him. Cursing under his breath, he once again decided to see where this took him. _You do not actually have anything to return to, remember?_

As he moved toward the threshold, he saw her lighting the oil lamps that were hanging all over the home. _Her wealth must be inherited_ , he decided. Nobody who had come to money newly would waste precious lamp oil for the incremental amount of brightness the extra lamps would provide.

“I’ve left some water next to the door – just rinse your feet down before you walk in,” she instructed. “The sand and dust gets everywhere as it is, without us helping it along.” As his eyebrows shot up, she laughed. 

“It must seem like such a waste to you, mustn’t it?” she asked. 

He shrugged. Surprised he may be, but he was not about to question her too much when she was giving him a place to stay and food without asking anything in return. Yet, he reminded himself. He did not like how observant she was. Suddenly, her wealth and supposed generosity took on a more sinister meaning. _What if… unwary strangers are precisely the source of her wealth?_

Belatedly, he returned his attention to her, realizing that she had been speaking. 

“–and I just cannot abide dust within my home,” she finished. Realising she was waiting for him, he quietly washed his feet as instructed, and followed her inside. Nervous he might be, but his hunger and weariness was winning this battle against his better judgement. He decided to keep his cane with him. He would need it if he needed to make a quick getaway, and it would also serve as a weapon in a pinch. 

“So,” he said, injecting a false note of cheer into his voice as she led him to another room, where she gestured for him to take a seat at a short wooden table. It was time for him to learn a little more about his host. “How should I address you, er, Miss...” 

“Oh, look at my manners!” she laughed. “Inviting someone over to my house, and me not even introducing myself. My name is Alia. I live here with my brother, Nizam. He should be back soon – he knows how I feel about him staying out after the sun goes down.” 

“It’s alright. I had not introduced myself yet either. My name is – “

“Khalid, yes? I heard you giving it to the clerk.” 

How close must she have been standing to them to hear the entire conversation, and why had he not noticed? As he was puzzling over how he could reply her, a figure appeared in the doorway of what Khalid assumed was the dining room. “Another stray, sister?” he teased. 

Khalid barely paid attention to Alia’s laughing reply. He was too busy staring at the man. From her voiced concern for him, he had expected a child. Not this strapping youth. The family resemblance was apparent – Nizam had the same russet skin and black curls as his sister. And the same propensity for laughter, it appeared.   
“So, mister, how long did you last before you gave in and began bashing the clerk’s face in?” Nizam asked. 

“Excuse me?” Khalid asked, dazed. He shook his head. He really had to pay attention to what was going on around him. He was still in an unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar people who were highly suspect. 

Even if one of them was one of the most beautiful men he had ever seen. 

“Alia brought you with her,” Nizam explained. “You have no idea how many people get turned away at the Temple of the Wisdom Spirit. Too many for us to feed, that’s for certain! Even if we only gave them the one meal, as we usually do. Alia only brings home the people she sees some potential in. And well, the sorts who tend to allow the clerk’s rudeness to force them to leave also tend to be the sorts with no backbone.” 

“He lifted the clerk straight off his feet, Nizam!” Alia exclaimed delightedly. “With one leg lamed! And even after they threw him out, he actually tried to climb the temple walls before I stopped him.”

The things Alia and Nizam were saying finally sunk in for Khalid. “Wait,” he said, perplexed, “You mean… this isn’t normal? That clerk wasn’t just ignoring me on purpose, or…” 

“Thought it was because of your pitiful appearance, did you?” Nizam teased. As Khalid flushed, Nizam continued. 

“Though your leg probably did have something to do with it. Even though the temple’s supposed to be open for all to come study in so long as they have the fee for the testing, not many even make it to that stage. Nobody really knows whether it’s a directive from the Wisdoms, or from the Sultan himself, or if it’s even just corruption on part of the clerks. Either way, they find their own ways of denying entry to the commoners. Those who are a little more suspicious, or have heard rumors, leave their money elsewhere before coming to ask, and those, the clerks dismiss outright. 

For those that actually bring the money with them, the clerks just keep quiet. Ignore them, no matter what they say. Some can’t take the silence, and they leave. Though the clerks try to avoid that happening. That’s probably why they do it – it’s probably better at provoking people into laying hands on them. Then they can call for the guards, claim they were being assaulted, and then get the poor sot’s money while they’re throwing them out.” 

Khalid sighed. To think that all this time, all the dreams he and his father had… and they had never been attainable to begin with. He looked down at his crippled leg to hide the tears that were welling up in his eyes. He supposed it was a blessing in disguise of some sort. At least he had not kept on working towards a worthless dream. 

He was not sure if Alia and Nizam had noticed his state, but if they had, they did not remark on it. They quietly chattered among themselves as Alia prepared the food. Khalid only looked up when a piping hot plate of lentil stew was set in front of him. As he ate, he mentally thanked Alia again for giving him this. At least he had not had to think on both the frustration of his dreams and how he was going to fend for himself. That worry, at least, he could push to tomorrow. 

When he was finished, he looked up again. Alia was gazing at him with a look of compassion on her face. Nizam had already left the table. Khalid frowned. He knew he had been wrapped up in his grief for the lost dream, but that should not have left him so unobservant of his surroundings. 

“Finished?” she asked gently. He nodded. 

“Just wait a moment. Once Nizam’s found his way to his bed, I’ll put all but the most necessary lamps out, and I’ll bring you to the guest room. We don’t have much, but at least we have the space our parents left us with before they passed.” 

There were too many questions he had from that. They didn’t have much? But what of all the signs of wealth she had earlier flaunted? Why waste the lamp light earlier only to worry about conserving it now? 

“There will be time enough for talk tomorrow, if you choose to continue staying with us” she said. She had probably noticed his confusion, then. “Bed first.”   
Even though this statement just raised more questions for him, he quietly acquiesced and accepted her generosity, which he had to admit, probably was genuine. Neither she nor her brother had shown any signs of hostility toward him, after all. As she had said, there would be time enough for both talking and thinking about his future the next day.


End file.
